


holding on to you

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 19:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11065593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Five times Carol held Daryl's hand and one time he held hers. Plus one more very special time.





	holding on to you

**Author's Note:**

> I was given the prompt _holding their hand_ on Tumblr and instead of writing a drabble, this happened instead.

One. June 1979

 

_Hey, Dixon! Like the shirt,_ Phillip Blake hollers over the courtyard. As usual, he's flanked by his two brainless best friends, never going anywhere on his own. _Did you find it in a dumpster?_

 

Daryl tries to ignore him, turning his head in the other direction. It's cool here in the shade of the tree he's sitting up against. The grass below him damp to the touch.

 

But Blake isn't known for giving up easily.

 

_I can smell you from all the way over here!_ Daryl takes a calming breath, his hands balling into white-knuckled fists. He'd taken a shower last night after his daddy finally fell asleep, and the clothes he's wearing are fresh from closet. That's what they smell like. Dusty and stale but not like a dumpster.

 

He didn't find them there, either. They used to be Merle's. Too big for him and so he has to tuck the shirt into his pants and hold it all together tightly with a worn, cracked leather belt.

 

_You guys don't have a shower in that mansion of yours?_ Blake's friends laugh hysterically, and this time Daryl turns to see their dumb faces approaching. He's about to push himself up and do something really stupid like marching over there and punching Blake in the face when someone appears in front of him.

 

_He's not worth it,_ a soft voice says. For a moment, all he can see are shiny red shoes against the grass, white tights leading up to a thick skirt the color of the sunset.

 

It's the new girl. He's forgotten her name because she's not in his class but he's seen her around a few times. Pale as chalk and with bouncy red hair, always with a smile on her lips, hanging out with Lori and Andrea by the crafts table or the vegetable garden. She moved here a few months ago from the big city, that's all he knows.

 

_And you don't smell,_ she reassures him, and Daryl is sure his face looks just as confused as that of Blake and his friends when she sits down next to him a second later, pulling her knees up to her chest.

 

_I'm Carol,_ she introduces herself, smiling so bright that it makes his cheeks flush more than the sun did before.

 

_Daryl,_ he croaks, staring at her dumbly because what is she doing here?

 

_Got yourself a girlfriend, Dixon?_ Blake picks up where he left off, and Daryl tenses again, about to jump to his feet.

 

_Don't,_ Carol says, and then she's reaching out and and taking his hand a second later, pulling him back down. It earns them a whistle from the three mouth-breathers, but Daryl is too preoccupied staring at her hand on his to notice them.

 

She's wearing a fake ring on her middle finger, the cheap kind that comes with a candy bar or a magazine. Silver with a plastic gemstone. She's wearing a bracelet, too. A thin gold chain with a dangling rose on it.

 

She's holding his hand. His hand. _Let me go!_ he hisses then, jerking his hand away and leaning away from her.

 

Her eyes flicker down to the ground. _Sorry,_ she whispers, but then she smiles at him again. _Don't listen to him, you know?_ That's easier said than done, especially if it never ever stops. _I mean, have you seen_ his _shirt?_

 

Her nose scrunches up when she laughs at her own words and he has to agree it's pretty funny, peeking over at Blake's orange turtleneck sweater and brown, checkered vest.

 

He doesn't laugh, but his lips do curl into a faint smile.

 

Two. January 1983

 

_Ya gonna get wet feet,_ Daryl mutters, watching in mild annoyance as Carol zips up her coat and wraps a scarf around her neck. Her cheeks are gleaming already, excitement evident in the sparkle of her blue eyes.

 

The textbooks they'd been studying are long forgotten as she rises onto her toes to grab her knitted gloves from the dresser by the front door.

 

_Doesn't matter,_ she quips, tossing his own jacket at him. It's thin and worn and hardly enough to shelter him from the harsh cold - but he's wearing the thick sweater Carol's mom had made him for Christmas. He'd be fine.

 

_Don't stay out too long, darling,_ Carol's father reminds her in passing, nodding at Daryl for a moment before sticking his nose back into the newspaper he'd been reading.

 

Carol doesn't even reply, just impatiently taps her foot against the tiled floor with her arms crossed in front of her chest. _You're too slow,_ she complains, pouting at him.

 

The second he ties up his boots she's reaching for him, grabbing his bare hand with her gloved one and dragging him through the front door out into the snow.

 

Thick flakes still fall slowly from the sky, dancing in the cold breeze.

 

She doesn't let go of his hand, pulling him down onto the ground with a sweet giggle, and a second later they're making snow-angels, fingers locked together.

 

He doesn't even feel the cold of the wet snow soaking through his clothes in that moment.

 

Three. October 1987

 

He told her not to come to his place so many times - too afraid of what his old man might do when he finds her in his room. But Carol never listens, and tonight is no different.

 

It doesn't matter though because the bastard is out on a bender, and so Daryl helps her through his window without reminding her of not coming by. The black cape she wears nearly gets stuck but they manage, and she lands on her feet with a thud - the heels of her leather boots so high he wonders how she walked over to their trailer the first place.

 

Her face is even paler than it usually is, lips a deep red, and a trail of fake blood runs down from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.

 

On instinct, he leans in to kiss her but she raises her hand and takes a step back. _Trick or treat?_ He rolls his eyes at that, burying his hands in the pockets of his threadbare sweatpants.

 

_Ain't got any candy._ It doesn't look like she needs any more either, judging by how full the plastic bag in her hand looks.

 

Her mouth turns up into a grin. _I'm sure you can think of other treats,_ she says with a low voice and he swallows the lump that suddenly forms in his throat.

 

Carol just laughs lightly, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She tastes like sugar and chocolate when she kisses him, making him hum against her lips.

 

 

 

He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. Beneath him, Carol is all pale, freckled skin and rosy cheeks. Panting breaths and roaming, tender hands. So tender. Tracing the ridges of his scars, curling around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

 

Her naked skin is smooth against his, her legs wrapped around his waist and he can feel her against him, warm and wet and _fuck_ this is going to be over before it starts.

 

_Carol-_ he chokes, but she silences him with a deep, languid kiss, reaching for his hand and curling her fingers around his.

 

_It's okay,_ she breathes, guiding his hand down between them - skimming over the swells of her breasts (pale and soft, and he can still feel the stiff rosy peaks against his tongue) and down the quivering plane of her stomach until she guides him to where they are _so_ damn close.

 

She nearly chokes when she shows him the right spot, when he curls his fingers into her. His name on her lips never sounded so sweet and she grasps his hand so tightly that he's afraid she's going to claw her way through his skin.

 

She doesn't let go when she falls apart with her back bowing off his shitty bed, and she doesn't let go when he pushes into her for the very first time, either - all slick, tight heat and he barely makes it a minute before he can't hold back anymore - grateful that instead of candy she'd hidden condoms in that plastic bag.

 

He buries his face against the softness of her breasts, sucks in deep breaths.

 

All the while, her fingers gently trace the palm of his hand.

 

Four. May 1988

 

_I'm surprised Carol talked you into going to prom,_ Carol's mother says with a smile, leaning against the door frame to the living room.

 

Daryl just gives her a muffled sort of grunt in response - he doesn't know how the hell she managed either. One moment he'd been hellbent on never ever dragging his sorry ass there and the next she moved her clever lips and hands just right and he was putty in her hands. He'd have agreed on anything in that moment.

 

Ain't like he's gonna tell her mother that, though.

 

_You look very handsome._ Does he? He feels like a puppet in this stiff suit, his hair slicked down somewhat. As well as he could manage. It doesn't feel like him, but he supposes dressing up is part of the whole charade.

 

_Thanks, ma'am,_ he replies, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth and looking away. He likes Carol's parents, always has. They never looked at him weird or tried to talk Carol out of being friends with him. Instead, they showed him kindness, allowed him into their picture perfect family. Helped him as much as they could – as much as he would allow them.

 

And when Carol walked into the living room with her arm linked with his one day and told them he was her boyfriend now, they'd just smiled, completely unsurprised by the news. The word still feels like he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve her for sure.

 

_There she comes._ The voice of Carol's father pulls Daryl out of his thoughts, the man's head peaking out over his wife's shoulder.

 

Sure enough, the creaking of wooden steps gives Carol away, and suddenly Daryl feels nervous, his palms clammy and his heart thundering in his chest.

 

_Oh, darling. Look at you!_ Carol's mother gasps, her eyes all teary and her hands clasped in front of her heart.

 

She's not even a little bit wrong.

 

Carol looks breathtaking. Her auburn curls cascading over her shoulders and back, her lips a sweet pink. The dress she wears reveals her bare, freckled shoulders, the green skirt wide like he imagines a princess’s dress would look like.

 

His mouth has gone dry and he stares at her with parted lips, probably looking like a complete idiot. But she walks up to him anyway, takes his hand in her own. Looking him up and down with an approving gaze that nearly makes him squirm.

 

_You ready for this?_ she whispers, and all he can do is nod because with her by his side, he is ready for anything.

 

 

 

_Ya look so beautiful,_ he tells her later that night, the two of them pressed close together, swaying to the quiet music drifting through the small windows of the gymnasium.

 

She told him she needed fresh air, had dragged him outside, kicked off her heels and here they are, dancing barefoot on the grass with the stars twinkling above.

 

He can feel her smile against the side of his neck, and he hopes she can feel his rapid heartbeat under her palm where it's pressed against his chest.

 

_I love you, Daryl._

 

It's not the first time she said the words, but on this night with their future bright ahead of them, it means so much more than ever before.

 

_Love ya,_ he breathes, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

 

Five. November 1992

 

_Thought maybe if I took some of the money I put away for the bike then we could go on that trip ta- Carol?_ He turns away from the stove, holding on to the spaghetti he'd been about to throw in the pot. Carol sits on the edge of the camping table they use as a dining table, her hands clutching a letter.

 

_Y'all right?_ he asks, already imagining all the worst things.

 

She is quiet for too long and he starts to seriously worry. Putting the pasta down, he walks over to her, kneels down on the ground in front of her and rests his hands on her knees. _Sweetheart?_

 

She sucks in a shuddering breath then, tears glistening in her eyes. _Daryl-_ she chokes, and for a terrible moment he thinks somebody died but then her lips spread into the widest smile he's ever seen.

 

_I did it!_ she gasps, reaching out to grab both of his hands, the letter crumpling a little. _I passed._

 

It takes him a moment to undestand what the hell she's talking about because half a minute ago she'd looked absolutely shaken and now she says she-

 

_You passed,_ he repeats calmly, slowly understanding. She nods softly, a tear spilling over. _You passed._

 

_I did,_ she cries, and then she's falling forward into his arms and he wraps them tightly around her a second before they both tumble to the ground in a fit of laughter and choked tears.

 

_Ya did it, sweetheart,_ he murmurs against her ear, her happy tears wet against his cheek. He's never felt so proud in his whole life. She did it. She passed her exam and now she's a registered nurse and everything she wanted came true. Everything she deserved.

 

She's a miracle to him. Perfect in every way. He knew she'd pass - unlike her, he never doubted her for a moment.

 

_I'm so proud of ya._ He needs her to hear it, to know it. She sobs now, clutching the collar of his shirt, and all he can do is hold her until the onslaught of relief finally settles.

 

One. June 1994

 

_We really gotta do this?_ Daryl groans, looking over Carol's shoulder to see Lori carrying Carol's bag outside to the car.

 

_Yes, you do,_ Andrea replies, leaning against the wall a few feet behind Carol, arms crossed in front of her chest. _It's tradition._

 

Carol chuckles, her body trembling against his. Their embrace is loose, her hands resting on his forearms and his own at her waist, and he's more than reluctant to let her go.

 

_Told ya we should've just gone to Vegas,_ he mutters to Carol, keeping his voice down - but Andrea hears him anyway.

 

_You guys are the worst,_ she proclaims, rolling her eyes. _It's_ one _night. Tomorrow, you can have all the sex you want._

 

_Andrea!_ Carol gasps, but there's a grin tickling her lips. _Stop._

 

_What?_ Andrea shrugs, nonchalantly tucking a blonde curl back behind her ear. _Everyone knows that's what you'll be doing after the party._

 

Daryl can feel himself flushing crimson red. _Don't know why there's gotta be a damn party, anyway,_ he mutters mostly to himself, earning himself a defeated groan from Andrea.

 

_Because you guys are getting married. If that's not a good enough reason for a party, then what is?_ He doesn't have an answer to that and that only makes Andrea look even more smug than she already did.

 

_Hey,_ Carol breathes, running her hand soothingly up and down his arm. _We'll survive this._ He snorts at the theatrical edge to her voice and when he smiles, she seems content. Rising up, she presses her lips to his in a gentle, tender kiss - full of promises.

 

When she turns to move away, he reaches for her hand, pulls her back against his chest. _I'll see ya tomorrow,_ he breathes, lifting his free hand to cradle her cheek.

 

_Yes,_ she replies quietly, sighing when he leans down to press his forehead against hers. _I can't wait._ He can feel her lips brushing his when she speaks, and he curls his fingers tighter around hers in response.

 

_Me, neither._

 

He could do without all the fanfare. But he's never been more impatient in his life, and tomorrow can't come fast enough.

 

 

Sophia. May 1998

 

The house is completely silent. He kicks off his muddy boots by the front door, shrugs out of his jacket - damp from the balmy rain outside.

 

_Carol?_ he calls, his voice echoing in the silence.

 

He doesn't get a response, but when he steps into the living room he sees the backdoor wide open, the white curtains framing it dancing in the breeze.

 

With a smile, he steps outside, the smell of flowers, freshly cut grass and rain thick in the air. The yard stretches on behind their small house, the cherry trees in full blossom.

 

Carol is sitting in the powder-blue rocking chair, Sophia cradled in her lap, two big round eyes observing the world around her. Her little head rests against Carol's stomach, and she's tucked securely in a fluffy blanket.

 

_There you are,_ Daryl says quietly, and Carol looks up with a smile, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. He walks over to them, bending down to give Carol a soft kiss. She smiles against his lips, one hand coming up to curl around his neck and hold him close just a moment longer.

 

When he does pull away with a sigh, Daryl nudges the tip of his nose against hers, and then he crouches down, the floorboards of the porch creaking.

 

_Hello, sweetheart,_ he coos, pressing his lips to Sophia's head, full of dewy, blonde hair. She makes a gurgling sound in response, something that sounds almost like a giggle. _Daddy's home._

 

She looks at him with interest, her rosy, round cheeks and tiny nub of a nose making his heart soar every damn day since she was born less than six months ago.

 

We've been waiting for you, haven't we, darling? Carol says quietly, resting her head against the back of the chair.

 

He smiles, trailing his finger down Sophia's arm before reaching her small hand, adorned with five chubby fingers that eagerly curl around his, squeezing mighty hard.

 

It feels brand new every time.

 

Carol laughs softly, and when he looks at her in question she nods down at Sophia's other hand - curled around Carol's finger just as tightly.

 

His heart nearly skips a beat. _Come 'ere,_ Daryl rasps then, reaching out to curl his free hand around Carol's, the three of them holding on to each other as the rain drums softly down on the roof above them.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who like visuals: [this](http://www.rustyzipper.com/shop.cfm?viewpartnum=322335&backtorow=63&jumpshow=0&SIZE=&ERA=1980&TYPE=Dresses%20-%20Prom&SEARCH=&GENDER=Womens) is Carol's prom dress. It needed to be 80s but not _too_ 80s because.... no thanks^^ I like to have visuals when I'm writing, even when I don't use much of it in the end.


End file.
